


the lakes

by katierosefun



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Deleted Scenes, F/M, Fluff, Missing Scene, Picnics, Romantic Fluff, face touches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25841617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katierosefun/pseuds/katierosefun
Summary: The Doctor and Clara have a picnic by the lake. Impossible promises are made. And kept.
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	the lakes

The wind bit at her bare arms and legs, but Clara didn’t care. She merely stood at the edge of the teal-colored lake, watched the reflection of the multiple suns and stars in the bright sky above her. She had long since given up wondering and asking how exactly it could be that there could be suns and stars in the sky at the same time—she wasn’t surprised anymore, but not being surprised didn’t mean not being appreciative of the strange, wonderful phenomena that was the suns and the stars and the teal-colored lake and the strange animals and plants that bobbed up to the surface.

Really, Clara figured that if she only focused on the yellow-brown sand and the green plains around her, she could pretend that she was just on some countryside back home—but there was no fun in that. The water lapped up to her feet, and she kneeled down in time to catch what she had guessed was a flower: five petals, a stem, but when it touched Clara’s palm, a pair of green eyes blinked, and it _hummed_ , the kind of hum that reminded Clara of bumblebees.

And then, as though catching Clara’s thoughts, the not-a-flower’s not-petals unfurled even farther, and then it lazily bobbed up to the sky. A breeze brushed past Clara, and the not-a-flower drifted away. Smiling, Clara gave the not-a-flower a small wave, and she could have sworn the not-a-flower flickered a not-a-petal back at her.

“You know,” she said, dropping her hand to her side, “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this.”

She turned around to find the Doctor hovering in the grass behind her. He had his hands in his pockets, and Clara detected a slight smile on his face—the slight smile she knew only ever came out when she wasn’t quite looking. In the initial days, he would turn away quickly, clear his throat, but now he held that slight smile.

“Well, I hope not,” the Doctor said after a beat. “I can’t stand bored people.”

Clara grinned. She turned around, started to walk back up to the grass.

“Come on,” she said, patting the Doctor’s elbow. “Lunch. You promised me a picnic, remember?”

“ _You_ wanted a picnic and didn’t wait for an answer,” the Doctor replied, trailing after Clara back to the TARDIS.

“Did I?” Clara asked. She turned around, flashing the Doctor a brief smile that he caught. She stepped into the TARDIS, grabbed the blanket and the basket that she had left on the console. She had gotten the basket as a gift from a school friend, and Clara hadn’t used it at all. She hadn’t had a reason to.

She swung the basket a little by her side as she stepped back out the TARDIS. Without needing to say anything, the Doctor and she walked back down to the edge of the lake—not to the sandy area, but to the grassier side. They hadn’t even discussed the spot earlier, but Clara realized with a small thrill that they didn’t have to.

Funny what a few years of traveling and adventuring with one person—the same person—could do.

They moved in sync: unfolding the blanket, setting the basket down. They unwrapped their sandwiches at the same time, tapped them together with exchanged half-smiles, half-smirks that they had perfected.

“So,” Clara said, watching another not-a-flower buzz by them, “have you been here before?”

“No,” the Doctor replied. He glanced over at Clara. “Congratulations, Clara Oswald. This is both our first time here.”

Clara smiled to herself.

“We’ve been to _other_ places for the first time together before,” the Doctor said, turning to the lake.

“Oh, I know,” Clara replied lightly.

Another pause, and then the Doctor’s voice again: “You’re still pleased. Your face is doing the thing when you’re pleased.”

Clara turned to the Doctor. He was still looking at her, the expression on his face one of half bewilderment, half triumph. “Well,” she said, brushing crumbs from her skirt, “ _your_ face is doing the thing when you’re pleased too.”

“I have a face?”

“There’s definitley a face,” Clara said, crossing her legs. She leaned back on her elbows, tilted her head up to the Doctor. She lifted up her hand, lightly tapped her finger against the corner of the Doctor’s lips. “Right there,” she said. She moved up her finger to the Doctor’s eyebrows. “And right there.” She dropped her hand, settled back down on her elbows.

“And your eyes too,” she added after a moment. “But I don’t want to poke your eyes out.”

She felt, rather than heard, the Doctor settle down beside her. A huff of breath, something that passed for a sigh. “Am I supposed to thank you for not poking my eyes out?”

“A thanks could go a long way,” Clara replied.

“Well, then, Clara Oswald, thank you for not poking my eyes out.”

“You’re very welcome,” Clara said, twisting over so that she was looking at the Doctor so that they were face-to-face. She hadn’t been lying: there was a faint glimmer in the Doctor’s eyes whenever he was pleased, one that Clara had memorized and could recognize like the lights leading her home.

That same glimmer shone in the Doctor’s storm-colored eyes now, and Clara wondered if her own eyes matched his in that way. She had a feeling they did, but she wasn’t about to ask the Doctor that.

So Clara only sighed, settled back down against the blanket with her hands resting under her head. She peered up at the sky, at the impossible suns and stars shining down at them.

“We really have, you know,” the Doctor said after a while. Clara knew that he was looking up at the suns and stars too, just by judging from the slight lilt in his voice. The angle of his warmth—away, not directed towards her. “Been to other places together for the first time.”

“I know,” Clara replied. Her eyes drifted shut, and then she re-opened them, desperate to keep the suns and stars in front of her. She paused, and then she said, “You’re allowed to bring other people here if you want, though.”

“Why would I bring other people here?”

“I don’t know,” Clara replied. She shifted against the blanket. “Just in case you ever do.”

A pause.

And then the Doctor said, “I think I might forget about this place whenever other people ask.”

“Ouch.”

“Not _that_ way,” the Doctor said. “I’ll remember only when you ask me.”

Clara could feel the Doctor’s eyes on her again.

So she turned her head to the side, found that he was watching her with a kind of earnestness that she had learned to spot in their quieter moments. She supposed this counted as a quiet moment, and she wasn’t particularly mad at that.

“Only when I ask you?” Clara repeated, her lips twitching. She gestured halfheartedly to the lake, to the skies above them. “But this place is a little too lovely to forget.”

The Doctor lifted his shoulder. Tried to. It was more of a shift against the blanket.

“Well,” Clara said, leaning close in a conspiratorial whisper, “I better stay a long time, then. Just so you don’t forget about this place.”

The Doctor blinked at her, and for a moment, that shine in his eyes dimmed, just a little, just enough for Clara to wonder—

And then the Doctor’s smile was back. That slight tug of his lips, the one that he only ever showed for her.

“A long time,” he agreed.

“And that’s a real promise this time,” Clara said. She tapped the corner of the Doctor’s lips again. “So don’t you forget it.”

The Doctor caught Clara’s hand this time, and they both stilled. Clara’s hand in the Doctor’s, the Doctor’s fingers twined hesitantly through hers.

“I won’t,” the Doctor said.

\--

“What’s that place?”

The Doctor glanced over at Bill, who was perched over the console. She tapped the viewing screen, swung it around to the Doctor. He saw a field, a teal-colored lake. Suns and stars. Not-quite-flowers drifting on what he knew was a cool breeze.

Something tugged at the back of his mind. Whispered conversations on a blanket, a warm hand in his.

“Haven’t the faintest idea,” the Doctor replied. He swept the image away. “Boring. Let’s go somewhere else.”

Bill gave him a quizzical smile, and the Doctor wondered if she would start asking questions: she did that a lot. But Bill only shrugged. “Right you are,” she said, pushing herself from the console. “What about…”

\--

“And you don’t want to go there because…”

“Because,” Clara said, rounding the console, “because…” She glanced back at Me, who was perched on top of the steps, her arms lazily hanging from her kneecaps. “Oh, don’t look at me like that.”

Me smirked. Almost smirked. There was something a little sad about that smirk. For a moment, Clara wondered if she was going to start asking questions. Or at least start teasing. Me sometimes did that, and Clara got on with it. They’ve had good runs just teasing and firing questions at each other.

But Me only rolled her shoulders back. “Alright,” she said. “So we won’t go to the lake.”

Clara nodded. She turned back to the viewing screen. She saw the impossible suns and stars, the floating not-quite-flowers. And when she reached up to swipe the image away, she couldn’t help herself: she zoomed in on the grassier section of the lake, the section where she remembered lying down on a blanket and tangled fingers and whispered promises that neither party could keep.

Clara switched the viewing screen over entirely, focused on the outside of the planet. And for a moment, she saw a familiar blue police box—and she wondered if he was there right now, perhaps traveling with someone else. Someone safer.

Clara hovered by the viewing screen a moment longer. She wondered if they would go down to the planet now, down to the lake—but no, the TARDIS vanished out of sight, and when Clara checked the lake again, there was no one there.

And despite herself—despite everything, Clara felt something loosen in her chest.

Some promises had been kept.

Clara smiled, even though her chest hurt.

“Right,” she said, clearing her throat. “How about…”

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a hot second since I've written anything whouffaldi-related, but...I re-watched a bunch of episodes from season 8, and I just really miss them.
> 
> Comments/kudos are greatly appreciated!


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